


Mutual Support Systems

by Gaslight Dreamer (wyntirrose)



Series: Medical Psychology [3]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M, Plug and Play Sexual Interfacing, Rare Pairings, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-05-03 03:41:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5275133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyntirrose/pseuds/Gaslight%20Dreamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ratchet and Smokescreen have hard jobs and sometimes they just need some mutual release.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mutual Support Systems

**Author's Note:**

> This story came out of a random conversation quite a while back about Smokey and how he deals with stress and it sort of grew from there.
> 
> This is also my first attempt at writing this kind of fic so ... yeah.
> 
> Comments and critique are always appreciated.

Smokescreen shut the door to his office and locked it. He ordered the lights dimmed to a quarter luminosity and turned on some soft 1940s era jazz. It was a poor quality rendition with all the pops and crackles of an obsolete recording format, but there was something charming about it. And it just seemed to add something unnamable to the woman’s sad, smoky voice. He moved to a small cabinet and pulled out a cube of high grade. He paused a moment and then grabbed several more, tossing them on a side table. He sank into his chair with a slight groan and took a long sip of the fuel, shivering slightly as it hit his systems. He dimmed his optics and his hand moved up to his chest as if of its own accord. It had been a long day. A long week, a long month. If he was being honest with himself, it had been a long lifetime. A soft sigh escaped his lips as he continued to drink his high-grade in near silence.

He was almost done the cube when he heard the beep of the door lock being overridden. Without looking he held out a cube of high grade. He knew who was there and he knew that his guest would be in just as much need.

“I was wondering when you’d get here,” Smokescreen said. “I’ll admit, I was almost be tempted to start a betting pool on how long you’d be in Medical before you’d let yourself leave. But that seemed more than a little morbid.”

Ratchet took the cube, broke the seal, and downed half of it, shuddering violently as it hit his systems.

“Okay, maybe that much on an empty tank is a bad idea,” he murmured as he sat heavily on the patient’s couch. “It’s surprisingly good though.”

“Of course it is,” Smokescreen replied, with a slightly offended sniff. “That’s from my stash, not some of Sideswipe’s swill.”

“It may be swill, but it gets the job done,” Ratchet said as he lay back on the couch and offlined his optics.

“There’s more to drinking than just getting drunk,” Smokescreen replied. “Besides, if we’re going to get drunk, my stash is safer and is less likely to give us energon poisoning. I don’t know about you, but I would rather not experience _that_ again.”

“Nope,” Ratchet agreed. “I learned my lesson the eighth time. … no wait, it was the tenth when I learned my lesson. Eleventh?”

Smokescreen chuckled softly. “Yup, you’re a drunken sot. A terrible influence on innocent little me.”

One of Ratchet’s optics lit slightly as he glared at Smokescreen. “Innocent? Yeah, I’m the bad influence. And where exactly have you hidden the syk?”

Smokescreen looked mournful at the mention of his drug of choice. “Red Alert found it and turned it in. Prowl has it now. I tried to talk Red out of it, but he just kept citing the rules at me. The turborat.”

“Red Alert. Right. And when can I expect Beachcomber in my med bay with a case of overindulgence?” Ratchet asked as he sat up and took a second cube.

“He probably won’t. I dropped a bug in Grooves’ audio to keep an optic on him,” Smokescreen replied with a shrug of his doors. “And before you say it, I have faith that they’ll keep each other in line and help each other get through, well, everything.”

Ratchet nodded. “How’s he doing?”

Smokescreen sighed as he reached for a second cube. “Beachcomber’ll be fine. It’s just that it’ll take time. And patience on our part. … and on Prowl’s part. The mech has never been good about dealing with addictions.”

Ratchet nodded. “I’ll keep an optic out for them both. And I’ll make a side mention to First Aid as well.”

They lapsed into silence as they drank their energon, just enjoying each other’s company as they listened to the music that filled the room. After a long time and the completion of another cube, Smokescreen finally sat up and leaned forward.

“So, you want to tell me how it went?” he asked.

“Just fine,” Ratchet replied dismissively.

Smokescreen stood, walked over to the patient’s couch and nudged Ratchet's leg out of the way. As soon as there was space he sat down beside the medic.

“Ratch, we had an agreement. No lies. No dissembling. Not when it’s important,” he said softly. “We owe each other that much. And this won’t work if we we keep things from each other.”

Ratchet sighed and pulled the other mech close. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I just … If I talk about it, I have to deal with it. And as well as everything went today, I keep thinking that if I let my guard down it’ll all go bad on me.”

Smokescreen cuddled up against Ratchet’s side, and ran his fingers over the the medic’s windshield. “But everything is done, right? All of your patients are safely settled in their own berths, otherwise you wouldn’t be here getting overcharged with me.”

“Yeah, I didn’t say that my fears are logical,” Ratchet replied softly. “And that feels nice. What you’re doing with my windshield.” 

Smokescreen smiled as he continued to lightly stroke the surface and massage the seals. “I know they’re not logical. I get that you’re always going to be worried about your patients. It’s hardwired into your programming at this point. And it’s what makes you an incredible medic. But you’ve heard all this before. You know all of this. You’ve heard it all from better mech’s than me.”

Ratchet took hold of Smokescreen’s hand and squeezed it gently. 

“I hate when you do that,” he said softly.

Smokescreen looked up at Ratchet, a look of confusion written in his optics.

“You hate when I do what?” he asked.

“When you put yourself down like that. It’s always subtle but it’s still there and it bothers me that you’re still viewing yourself as less than worthy,” Ratchet replied softly.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that …” Smokescreen trailed off and looked away. “I’m not what these mech’s need and on days like this I’m forcibly reminded of that fact.”

Ratchet brought Smokescreen’s fingers up to his lips and kissed them gently. “The only reason you didn’t graduate was because the Academy wasn’t around to graduate you. And as for the rest … Look, we all have pasts. It’s a war and we all did what we had to to survive. But none of any of that matters any more.”

Smokescreen sighed and looked back up at Ratchet. “You know, I was supposed to be making you feel better, right? Not the other way around?”

Ratchet smiled and kissed Smokescreen chastely on the lips. “You do help me. And you did make me feel better. So, you want to tell me what happened today? You had sessions with Trailbreaker, Inferno, and Bluestreak, right?”

Smokescreen nodded. “Yeah, yeah I did. Bluestreak’s Bluestreak. He’s still pretending that nothing’s wrong and he’s hiding behind all that constant noise. Inferno’s still so angry. So very angry. He hides it well, but I’m convinced that he’s going to snap one of these days and he’s going to kill someone. And not a Decepticon. And Trailbreaker …. Primus, it is just so exhausting working with them!”

Ratchet nuzzled Smokescreen lightly, and their chevrons clicked slightly, but he said nothing.

“I’m genuinely worried about Trailbreaker. He’s regressing. He’s pulling away from everyone and he thinks that no one’s noticing,” Smokescreen said softly. “And the sad thing is, I think that maybe they aren’t. He’s gotten so incredibly good at hiding all of this pain and fear and depression. Even from himself. It’s taking everything I have to draw him out and I don’t think it’s going to be enough.”

“It will be,” Ratchet whispered. “And I’m not just saying that. I have faith in your understanding of our crew and your ability to help them. But if you think that he needs more, if we need to look at medical or pharmaceutical responses, let me know. Together we can help him.”

Smokescreen nodded. He sat up and smiled at Ratchet. “Even just talking helps. Your reminders and knowing that I have you at my back? It all helps.”

With that he stood and held out a hand to Ratchet.

“Come on. It’s been a long day for both of us and I think we could use some recharge,” he said.

“Funny,” Ratchet replied as he stood and pulled Smokescreen close. “I was thinking the same thing, only maybe without the recharge.”

Smokescreen chuckled softly as he allowed himself to meld to the larger mech’s boxy form. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re frisky when you’re drunk?”

“I don’t remember you ever complaining in the past,” Ratchet replied as he drew his hands over Smokescreen’s doors and settled on the hinges, deftly influencing their sensors with slight electrical impulses.

“Not complaining,” Smokescreen replied, his voice thickening slightly with rising desire. “Never complaining. Just stating a fact.”

“So, does that fact mean that you want to go get some recharge instead of-?”

Ratchet left the rest of the question unsaid as he leaned in kiss the centre of Smokescreen’s chevron, then the tip of his nose, before finally ghosting over his lips.

Smokescreen’s hands came to rest on Ratchet’s hips, fingers teasing the seams at his waist pivot.

“Oh, I think I could be convinced into a second wind,” he purred. “Or two.”

“So I need to convince you, do I?” Ratchet murmured as he began to explore Smokescreen’s jaw with his lips. “I guess I might just have to get creative, won’t I?”

“I guess you just --!” Smokescreen broke off with a gasp as Ratchet pulled him close and lifted him off the ground in a surprising show of strength. 

“I think it might be about time we broke in your desk,” Ratchet whispered.

“Ratchet!” Smokescreen laughed. “Put me down! You’re going to hurt your back again!”

“First off, you’re not that heavy,” Ratchet replied as he walked over to Smokescreen’s desk, thought here was a slight grunt of exertion that belied his statement. “And B - it’s not like your desk is far.”

He placed Smokescreen carefully on the edge of the desk and leaned in to kiss him again. the new position put them nearly at optic level to each other. “And I like you over here,” Ratchet added with a whisper. “I like you here a lot.”

Never breaking Smokescreen’s gaze, Ratchet slipped his hand between them and cupped his lover’s interface cover, smiling as he felt the heat radiating from the metal.

“Ratch,” Smokescreen whispered as he spread his legs and pulled Ratchet close against him. “Always so wonderful at making me forget about all the things.”

Ratchet trailed light kisses along Smokescreen’s jaw as his hand traced patterns against the port cover.

“Open,” he whispered. “Open and we can forget together.”

Smokescreen chuckled but complied. “You are so very sappy. Imagine what the others would think if they kne-”

He broke off with a gasp as Ratchet began to trace edges of his port, lighting up nodes with his fingers.

“Love watching you lose yourself,” Ratchet whispered as he traced his way slowly into that ready port. “Love when you come undone.”

Smokescreen vented sharply as Ratchet’s teasing fingers set nodes and sensors alight, sending wonderful sensations through Smokey’s body.

Ratchet removed his finger, chuckling slightly at Smokescreen’s soft whimper of disappointment. He carefully spread the Datsun’s thighs further apart as he knelt down, peppering kissed across headlights, bumper, and midriff as he did.

“Ratch …” Smokescreen whispered, voice hoarse with a burr of lust. That whisper became a sharp cry as Ratchet’s glossa replaced his finger.

Smokescreen’s fingers closed around the tips of Ratchet’s chevron, teasing the sensitive metal. His back arched and he had to fight the urge to clamp his hands down hard over the chevron as the hard metal ridge of Ratchet’s nose pressed against the upper node of his port and as he pulled Smokescreen in close and tight. Smokescreen completely lost himself. His world shrunk down until all that was left was Ratchet’s glossa and his own over sensitised port.

Ratchet’s glossa tingled as electricity from Smokescreen’s port and he couldn’t help but moan in appreciation as the taste of ozone mixed in with the smooth tang of lubricating agents. He took hold of Smokescreen’s hips to stop his hips from bucking. With one last lick, he created a firm suction with his mouth.

Smokescreen threw his head back with a cry as a charge built in him and his spark energy thickened his his chest seeking an outlet. He tried desperately to arch his hips into Ratchet, but the medic held him tightly in place as he began to hum softly.

Ratchet smiled at the reaction. Yes, Smokescreen’s fingers digging into his chevron hurt, but the reaction was more than worth it. He was normally so controlled with every move and word calculated. One nights like this when he let everything go, he was intoxicating.

“Ratch … primus … oh primus! …. Rat- _CHET_!” Smokescreen cried as his overload hit hard.

Ratchet smiled as he held Smokescreen close, kissing him and stroking his wings as the last shivers of overload moved through his body.

“Better?” Ratchet asked with a smile.

“Not completely,” Smokescreen replied softly before kissing Ratchet again, shivering as he tasted himself of the medic’s glossa. “Not done with you yet.”

With that he slipped his hand down Ratchet’s front and settled over his port cover.

“But I can think of one more thing that would make me feel so much better,” Smokescreen whispered with a smile as he traced the edges of Ratchet’s cover.

“Oh?” Ratchet asked as he opened his port and allowed his cable to pressurize. “Is it your opinion that I can help you with that?”

“I think you might,” Smokescreen replied as he took Ratchet in hand and guided him to his port.

Ratchet gently pressed Smokescreen back against the desk, leaning in and kissing him deeply as he pressed his cable into Smokescreen’s port. He began to gently thrust rhythmically moaning as the port began to kneed around him, drawing him further in.

“So perfect …,” Ratchet whispered, his voice thick and filled with a static buzz. “...just so perfect.”

Smokescreen cried out, fingers scratching into Ratchet’s back as he pulled the medic closer, encouraging a deeper connection. So close, he was so close to what he needed. So very close to being everywhere he needed to be in this moment.

“Frag! Ratch … Please!” he begged. His spark reached out for Ratchet’s as he desperately tried to complete the connection on both levels.

Unfortunately, Ratchet was in no rush. He was in heaven, his cable being squeezed perfectly as he slowly made his way to Smokescreen’s internal connector. 

“So good …” he murmured. “You feel so good. So _incredible_!”

He brushed Smokescreen’s field with his own, as his cable almost met with the Datsun’s inner connector, but not quite.

“Stop teasing!” Smokescreen whined, hips thrusting upward as he tried to force the connection.

“Not teasing,” Ratchet murmured as he brushed the connectors together again. There was an obvious strain in his voice, but he was enjoying this slow approach far too much. “Teaching you patience, that's all.”

“Fuck patience! I'm done with patience!” Smokescreen focused his field and lashed out, thrusting his focus into Ratchet, melding their spark energy in a wild maelstrom of lust.

Ratchet should have expected this. Patience in the berth had never been Smokescreen’s strong suit, and Ratchet new this. But he had still be caught off guard. As soon as the spark connection was complete, his body took over and thrust forward forcefully, completing the connection between both mech.

Data packets and electricity flew between them at the speed of thought, and their world shrank down to a pinprick of lust and knowledge as they were laid bare to each other.

Smokescreen cried out as a second overload consumed him. Ratchet followed close behind and collapsed atop the other mech. He managed to stay aware enough not to bear down too much weight, but just barely.

“Primus, that was incredible,” Ratchet murmured as he trailed gentle kisses along Smokescreen’s jaw.

Smokescreen made an approving sound, cuddling close and ignoring the discomfort in his doors as they pressed into the tabletop.

“Definitely have to try the desk again. And maybe the couch, and the chair, and the floor ….” He grinned wickedly as he squeezed the walls of his port and drew another moan out of Ratchet.

“Just maybe not tonight?” Ratchet asked as he gently disengaged their equipment. “I think maybe a shower and some much needed recharge are in order.”

“Those doctor's orders?” Smokescreen asked teasingly as he sat up. He draped his arms over Ratchet’s shoulders and became serious. “And are you thinking of spending the night? Maybe?”

There was an almost desperate need in his tone and it broke Ratchet’s spark to hear it. The psychologist was so used to being used and thrown away, that even this far into their relationship, he still wasn't completely sure of his status. Of course it didn't help that Ratchet often recharged in his own quarters since it was easier to get to the med bay from there.

“Of course I'm staying,” he whispered before kissing Smokescreen deeply, trying to put all of his emotions, his need, and his desire into it. “I'll stay forever if that's what you want.”

“So sappy …” Smokescreen murmured in reply, and there was no hiding the relief under the tone. He was just as broken as all of his patients, but at least he had Ratchet there to support him.


End file.
